


Get Closer To Me

by YamiSnuffles



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Missing Scene, Scene: The Bus Ride (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-28
Packaged: 2020-10-12 01:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20555963
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/YamiSnuffles/pseuds/YamiSnuffles
Summary: “I suppose this is our stop.”Well, that would do it. Crowley would have to hope the dark of night was enough to hide the blush because he absolutely couldn’t stop it jumping up his neck when Aziraphale called Crowley’s building their stop. Sure, he’d invited the angel over but if he was any good at planning ahead he wouldn’t have been left pulling a plan out of his ass when the end times finally rolled around. So there he was with Aziraphale waiting for him to lead them both up to his flat and all he could do was nod his head and mumble something unintelligible as they got off the bus.





	1. Their Side

Crowley had spent Earth’s final day holding off his exhaustion because he’d had to. There wasn’t time to be tired when the forces of hell were after him. No time when he had to mourn and even less when he found Aziraphale was back and so the world still needed saving. Such a deficit of time when it all came crashing down that he literally had to bring it all to a stop to buy them a final moment to prepare.

After all that, it had been a relief to fall onto a bench alongside Aziraphale. He didn’t have to keep running like it was the end of the world because, finally, it wasn’t. It was over. Despite all odds, they’d survived. Together. He could have sat there forever, just passing that bottle of wine back and forth between them. It had been more difficult than he cared to admit to get off of that bench and onto his feet once more so that he could get on the bus to Oxford that would take them to London. He all but collapsed into a seat near the front.

Before he could so much as think of sprawling out to sleep, Aziraphale made to sit beside him. Not only that, but Aziraphale put a hand on top of the one Crowley had used to lower himself into his seat. The angel kept hold of that hand as he sat down. Aziraphale didn’t even look over, just held Crowley’s hand like it was nothing at all and that he hadn’t been the one protesting sides moments ago. He held on like it was natural, like they’d been doing it for ages. Crowley tried to at least appear to feel the same way about it even as it made something in his gut do an odd flip. He was thankful to have glasses that obscured the way he stared disbelieving from the corner of his eye as he pretended to look forward.

Their own side. He’d said it himself and yet he could hardly believe the angel was going to ride the whole way back next to him instead of ahead or behind. Crowley blinked to be sure it was all real, only for his eyelids to suddenly feel heavy and impossible to open again. He wasn’t aware of falling asleep. Seeing as he didn’t strictly need to sleep, it generally took some work. He’d gotten very good at it over the millenia, the very best if you asked him, but he usually had to make some conscious effort. He must have been more exhausted than he’d guessed because the last thing he remembered, they’d been rolling out of Tadfield and now the bright lights of the city crowded in him. Too bright. He stared at the lights blearily, trying to make sense of them.

“Sorry to wake you, my dear, but we’re nearly there.”

“Mmhmm, wuh?”

Crowley felt like he’d swallowed cotton that had left his tongue thick and dry, and had somehow moved up to muzzy his brain. If he was too tired to remember falling asleep in the first place, he really wasn’t ready for the fact that there was a light pressure on his thigh, that it was what had awoken him, and certainly not that it came from Aziraphale’s hand. He’d thought he’d dreamed up the hand holding, to be quite honest. It wouldn’t be the first time. He blinked over at it once. Twice. By the third that information had finally made its way through his brain and it was all he could do not to bolt upright in surprise.

It wasn’t just that Aziraphale had a hand on his leg- although that alone was far too large a concept for a word like _ just- _it was that Aziraphale had slid his hand under Crowley’s own and that the thigh on which it rested was pressed carelessly against the angel’s leg. Crowley felt as though the skin at those points of contact might catch fire at any moment. It blossomed like a newborn star, spread to his blood, his skin, his bones. He could feel the heat of it crawling up his neck and threatening to creep beyond his collar where it might be spotted.

Crowley might have officially cut ties with hell but that didn’t mean he was no longer a demon with appearances to keep up. He had some dignity, no matter how easy that was to forget whenever Aziraphale was near. He broke contact under the ruse of a long, languorous stretch. When it was done, his traitorous limbs had been pulled back out of enemy territory and solidly within the confines of his own seat.

“Where are my-?” He gestured vaguely at his face, having finally woken up enough to realize why the lights seemed so bright.

Aziraphale perked up. Pink dusted his round cheeks. “Oh.” He patted himself down, then pulled Crowley’s sunglasses from an inner coat pocket and handed them over. “I thought they might be uncomfortable, what with your face pressed to the window and all.”

Crowley’s traitorous mind instantly supplied him with the image of Aziraphale bending over his sleeping form to delicately remove the sunglasses. It was all the easier to imagine with the ghost of Aziraphale’s scent clinging to errant spectacles. He swallowed hard and took the glasses back, happy to have them hide his features again. “Sorry I fell asleep on you, angel.”

“Think nothing of it. I had a lot to consider,” Aziraphale replied, holding the scrap of prophecy aloft.

“Still, don’t usually just drop off like that.”

“You were very tired. And I might have, ah-”

Crowley’s eyes widened with sudden understanding. His wide lips quirked up in disbelief. “You knocked me out.”

“Nothing so crude. Not even a miracle, really.” Aziraphale wriggled guiltily in his seat. “Just a nudge to help you along. A small push in the direction you were already headed.”

Crowley flicked down to the bit of paper in the angel’s hand. “You just wanted to read in peace.”

“Well…”

Crowley laughed and gave the angel an affectionate smile. “Bastard.”

Aziraphale tried to feign offence but the soft curl of his lips gave him away. He was saved from having to defend himself more vigorously by the sudden lurching stop of the bus. He pocketed the prophecy and stood to gesture Crowley on.

“I suppose this is our stop.”

Well, that would do it. Crowley would have to hope the dark of night was enough to hide the blush because he absolutely couldn’t stop it jumping up his neck when Aziraphale called Crowley’s building their stop. Sure, he’d invited the angel over but if he was any good at planning ahead he wouldn’t have been left pulling a plan out of his ass when the end times finally rolled around. So there he was with Aziraphale waiting for him to lead them both up to his flat and all he could do was nod his head and mumble something unintelligible as they got off the bus.

Crowley immediately chose to go up the stairs. As tired as he still was, it offered him the most time to collect himself before they made it to his flat. It wasn’t enough. Before he knew it, they were both at the front door. Aziraphale loitered, waiting to be let in, a courtesy Crowley rarely granted when they went to the bookshop. From the rosy hues that dusted the angel’s cheeks and the way he fidgeted with the buttons on his waistcoat, it was clear he was apprehensive to cross this final barrier. Crowley was as well. He wished he’d locked up to buy himself a another moment or two. Unfortunately for him, there had been more pressing matters to consider when he’d left, like Armageddon and the fact that Aziraphale wasn’t answering his phone. To make matters worse, locking up wasn’t the only thing he’d forgotten in his rush out.

“_ Oh _.”

That single soft sound from Aziraphale was all it took to make guilt churn in Crowley’s stomach. One, solitary syllable brought forth an argument from over a century and a half ago, it brought reconciliation and a bombed church, and summoned _ ‘You go too fast.’ _Crowley did his best not to sway under the weight of it all. He wished he’d remembered the puddle of demon soup he’d left in the entryway. Not that there was much he could have done about it either way, but he’d have figured something out to spare himself the way Aziraphale was staring at it now.

“It’s nothing,” he assured, all swagger and shrugs.

He moved to step around the sodden rags that had once been Ligur to show just how much of nothing it was but was stopped by a vice like grip on his arm. There was a cold fire in Aziraphale’s eyes as he strode decisively in front of Crowley. It was times like this that Crowley remembered Aziraphale had been one of the guardians of Eden. He stayed back now, not moving an inch from where the angel had firmly placed him, but he’d dared approach then. Had he hoped to be smited that day when he'd first crawled up the wall and all but bragged about what he'd just done? Might as well have for as hard and fast as he fell after the angel's mumbled admission of guilt about the flaming sword.

Aziraphale banished the holy water from the doorway with a sharp, decisive gesture. When he walked into the office, Crowley drifted in after him, drawn as helpless as ever into the angel’s wake. Aziraphale wandered ponderously about the room. He paused briefly to consider the exploded remnants of the plant mister and then cleared it away with another wave of his hand. Crowley couldn’t help but wince when Aziraphale stopped at the desk. He ran considering fingers over the rubber gloves, the metal tongs, and, finally, the opened thermos.

“You told me the forces of hell had figured you out. I didn’t even stop to think what that meant for you.” Aziraphale’s voice came out soft, wavering, and raw. He was so quiet that Crowley only heard because absolutely every bit of him was bent on it. Aziraphale picked up the thermos lid and turned it thoughtfully in his hands. He tried to screw the cap back on but his hands were shaking too much. He abandoned the attempt and turned to Crowley instead, eyes watery and wide with sorrow. “Oh, Crowley. You begged me to come with you and I didn’t even consider why you were so desperate.”

Begged. Desperate. Both perfectly true but the words still stung at Crowley’s pride. He tried to speak only to find his throat was too tight from seeing Aziraphale so overcome on his behalf. He grunted out a dismissive noise instead. He tried to take the thermos to put it out of sight so that it would stop tormenting the both of them but Aziraphale snatched it up.

“Angel, come on now. You’re being ridiculous. It’s empty and it’s not like I haven’t handled it even when it wasn’t.”

Aziraphale held the thermos to himself. He looked down at it with a slight tremble in his lip. “I told you not to unscrew the cap,” he said, his voice light as he tried to force a bit of levity only to fall short.

“Insurance finally came due.”

No reason for the angel to know that wasn’t the only time the thermos had been opened. Nor was there cause for him to know just how often it had been handled, stared at, pondered, yelled at, and agonized over through the years. No, for all Aziraphale need be concerned, Crowley had taken it straight home that night, locked it up, and never thought of it again until he needed it.

“You could have been _ destroyed _. If anything had gone wrong-”

Crowley took a slow step forward with his hands up, placating. Gentle, gentle, gentle. He could be gentle for Aziraphale. He could be anything. “But nothing did. I was careful. Told you, it wasn’t for me. Never was. And now it’s gone. It’s over, so you don’t have to worry any longer.”

He took another step toward Aziraphale that only caused the angel to pull the thermos closer. Crowley was nonetheless able to pull it gently from his grasp. He carefully screwed the cap back on and crossed the room to place it back in the safe, even though there really was no reason to keep it now that it had fulfilled its purpose. Still, there was no way he was just going to toss it after all this time. It had saved his life. More importantly, it had been a gift from Aziraphale, the most cherished and tortuous one he’d ever received. 

When he finished locking it away, he found that Aziraphale had left the office. A flash of soft tan and cream showed that he was now milling around the plants. Leaves trembled, unsure what to make of the stranger in their midst. They’d gone so many decades without visitors and suddenly there were multiple in a day. Tension of a different sort from earlier was thick in the air. Some of the plants cowered under it and some strained to be nearer Aziraphale. Crowley threw his sunglasses aside so that he could give the vegetation a warning glare to behave.

“I had no idea you gardened,” Aziraphale commented in distant tones that said his mind was elsewhere. “It would appear you have quite the green thumb. How lovely they all are.”

Crowley was quick to wave off the compliment. “Don’t let them hear you say that. They’ll get ideas.”

Too late. One particularly cheeky palm dared extend a frond toward Aziraphale, who stroked it fondly. Crowley wasn’t sure whether he was envious of how bold the plant was or jealous of the affection it got as a result. Both, he decided. He curled his lips in a threatening, silent hiss that caused the offending palm to shrink back into place.

Crowley expected a reprimand of some sort for terrorizing his plants. It wasn’t like Aziraphale to pass up a good opportunity to chide Crowley when he thought the demon was being particularly mean spirited or petty. Instead, the angel didn’t seem to have even noticed. When he turned around, he looked a million miles away. Aziraphale’s watery eyes danced over things that weren’t really there, examined an alternate world of what-ifs, full of pain and the irreparable loss of a friend. Crowley knew the look because he’d worn it himself, had seen it reflected back at him in the Bentley’s mirrors before he’d hidden away under a fresh pair of sunglasses.

“I should have come with you,” Aziraphale said, snapping back to this world. His blue eyes lifted to meet gold.

“Nah,” Crowley replied, surprised he could even manage so small a reply with as tight as his throat currently was. “Alpha Centauri would have been- I mean, probably you’d have been miserable. No food. No books. And where would the humans have been without us in the end?”

“Things might, oh I don’t know, they might have been better somehow.” Aziraphale looked at the toe of his shoes and then back up again. “I lied to you. I knew where to go. I’d known and I told you I didn’t because I was certain someone on my side would see reason.”

It hurt Crowley to have confirmation that Aziraphale had lied. He’d suspected- there were too many notes stuffed into Agnes Nutter’s book for that to have all come last minute- but it was one thing to suspect and another to hear straight from the source. He wondered just how long Aziraphale had known and kept it from him. But no, he couldn’t let himself go down that road. That way lay madness and questioning and far too many years of feeling low and unworthy. Usually it was his own self doubt that told him Aziraphale would always choose heaven over him. It was a wound that had long since become a scar. Somehow he’d forgotten how much more it hurt to have Aziraphale holding the knife that opened it back up.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said and that was the truth. It absolutely did not matter in the face of everything else.

“Of course it matters. I treated you abominably. I was stupid. You were right, I was so stupid,” Aziraphale argued, determined to be in the wrong. To find absolution or condemnation, anything that would make up for what he’d done. His face crumpled. A few of the tears he’d been holding back escaped to round the flushed curve of his cheeks. “I could have lost you forever and for what?”

And that, right there, was why something as little as lies didn’t matter to Crowley. Not after the bookstore. Not after he’d reached out and felt nothing, when the only thing he’d been certain of was that the world was over for him. Without Aziraphale in it, it was all ash.

“You are stupid,” he said flatly and Aziraphale flinched. One of Crowley’s hands raised to touch him, to comfort him, but the motion was aborted nearly as soon as it had begun. Aziraphale was so close. If Crowley closed that gap further still, he’d never manage to say what he needed to. “You’re stupid because you think anything would keep me from you. That was what the holy water was all about. No one was gonna take me from you, not even if hell came knocking. Which it did and…” Crowley was losing his train of thought. All he could think of was too much fire in a too empty bookshop. Even with Aziraphale right in front of him, he could feel the loss like a tangible thing. “You’re stuck with me. I’m not going anywhere. Not ever. Not after-”

Crowley choked on a sob, refusing to let it escape his throat. He’d lost heaven long ago. Hell had followed after a lifetime of straining at their bonds. And then, in that moment in the bookshop, he’d lost Aziraphale as well. He’d been all out of sides, lost and alone. He'd pulled himself together to save the world- to go to Aziraphale- but it had been a rush job, not properly done, and now it gave way under all the pressure. Something had broken in him in the bookshop and it snapped apart once more. Suddenly. Painfully. 

“Aziraphale,” he croaked despite himself in the same broken tones of hours prior. “You were _ gone _.”

But he wasn’t. Aziraphale hadn’t been destroyed. The angel was there in Crowley’s flat, so close already and moving closer. He was near enough that Crowley could see his throat bob nervously.

“_ Crowley… _”

Aziraphale had the look of someone on a precipice, ready to jump but unsure if he wanted to. It was a look Crowley had seen on the angel’s face often enough, more in the last eleven years when he’d been given world changing decision after world changing decision. A fair number of times, if not every time, Crowley had been the one to nudge him into place- suggesting the Arrangement, teaming up to avert the apocalypse, and offering to run away together. Crowley had the distinct feeling he’d also caused this latest crisis of faith, but he didn’t have any idea what he’d done nor what Aziraphale was preparing to leap for.

The little line of consternation that had formed between the angel’s brows vanished the moment a decision was reached. “I think, well, there is something I would very much like to do. Something I’ve wanted to do for a rather long time now.” He reached up and caught Crowley by his collar, gently smoothing the lapels. “I’ll be damned if I waste another moment fretting about what I ought to do.”

Crowley felt that wasn’t the sort of thing he should leave without a clever retort. However, being clever required the use of your brain, something he didn’t entirely have at the moment. He was captivated by the set of immaculate hands on his chest. There wasn’t a single wrinkle to smooth. In a day of overextending himself, he’d wasted a miracle to clean himself up as they left the airfield, eager to be free of all the grime and the memories attached to it. He was spotless and Aziraphale had to see that, had to know there was no real excuse for being so close other than because he wanted to be.

Aziraphale remained, regardless, his fingers fussing with fabric and his body close enough that Crowley swore he could feel the heat of him. Something deep in his bones ached to move closer to it. He swallowed hard. His heart fluttered wildly. Fluttering really wasn’t a properly demonic thing for any part of him to do. He could just stop it, do away with all these unnecessary human reactions- like the sudden sweat on his palms or weakness in his legs- but there was something heady and intoxicating about it.

Aziraphale used his grip on the demon’s jacket to pull himself slowly closer. Crowley’s eyes flew wide as Aziraphale’s were hooded by heavy lids. Aziraphale’s lips parted slightly. The same part of Crowley’s mind that told him what was coming also screamed at him to do something about it- move forward, relax, do anything other than stare wide eyed and open mouthed like a dying fish. He only just managed to recollect himself when Aziraphale drew upward to close the last few inches that kept them apart.

It was the barest brush of lips. Thousands upon thousands of years had been spent building a wall, only for it to be shattered by that simple, featherlight connection. Crowley was too busy marvelling at it to reciprocate so it was over before it had really begun. Aziraphale rocked back onto his heels, his hands still on Crowley’s collar, and offered a fluttering, unsure smile.

There was ash on Crowley’s tongue. Whether there truly was or not, it was suddenly all he could taste. He surged forward and banished the gap between them once more. 

Crowley prided himself in his imagination. It wasn’t the sort of thing a demon was supposed to have but you didn’t create stars and then forget that bright, bold spark inside. He’d made good use of it over the ages with no subject a more frequent visitor to his dreams than a certain angel. But no matter how good his imagination was, it didn’t compare to the reality of kissing Aziraphale.

When Aziraphale didn’t immediately pull away, Crowley put his hands on the soft edges of the angel’s jawline and pressed in further. Aziraphale’s lips were plush and pliant. When Crowley had gotten his fill of them, he let his tongue flick out, testing. He was too happy to be embarrassed by the breathy whine that escaped his mouth when he dared taste celestial lips. How could there be time for something like embarrassment when, in the next moment, Aziraphale let out a whimper of his own and opened his mouth to allow Crowley entry.

The part of Crowley that remained forever cold and coiled and ready to strike unspooled. This was… divine. Literally. It should have burnt him and reduced him to nothing. Instead, it was everything, made him everything. Pressed as close as they were, he could feel hearts crash against mortal frames not big enough to hold immortal love. It filled the void that had been deep inside him since his Fall, a void that came rushing back when Aziraphale released him.

Aziraphale placed a hand over his heart. “Oh, that...”

“Yeah, that,” Crowley replied inelegantly. 

He felt weak in the knees and he couldn’t decide if it was Aziraphale, his exhaustion, or some combination of the above. It hardly mattered when he felt like he could float.

Aziraphale shook his head. “No, not that. Well, yes. That was-” He gave the bare, bright smile he reserved just for Crowley when the demon had done something for him. He dipped his chin as though he could do anything to hide the brilliance of it. “But what I mean is, that gave me an idea. I think I’ve figured out the prophecy.”

Crowley’s brows raised. He couldn’t help the teasing twist of his mouth despite the continued fluttering of his heart. “One hell of a kiss,” he said dryly.

“Quite.” Aziraphale glanced in either direction. His eyes narrowed and then widened when they settled on a familiar avian lectern. “Is that-?”

“What’re you looking for, angel?” Crowley asked, cutting off that line of questioning before it could begin.

“I don’t suppose you have a kitchen or anything of the sort in this cavern of yours?”

“Sure.” Crowley cast a curious glance over at Aziraphale as he lead the way. “What kind of solution have you come up with that requires a kitchen?” 

“It won’t. I was just hoping for a nibble. It’s been a long day,” the angel answered and Crowley couldn’t help but snort in fond amusement. “And, no offense dear boy, but you look dead on your feet. I thought some tea might help you perk up.”

Crowley quickly miracled everything and anything into his cupboards that he thought Aziraphale might desire. A kettle was already warming when they entered the kitchen. Crowley leaned against the counter and shoved his hands into his pockets as best he could.

“So, what’s this plan of yours?”

“I’ll explain in a moment,” Aziraphale replied, drawing near. He wrapped one hand around the back of Crowley’s neck. “First, I think some more inspiration is in order.”


	2. The Morning After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! What was meant to be a short epilogue grew into a full chapter.

After they’d traded corporations successfully once, there was really no reason to do it again. They did regardless, back and forth and back again, telling themselves practice would be key to their success. Having the core of his very being brush against Aziraphale’s with every swap was like nothing Crowley had felt in Heaven and certainly nothing after. It was almost too much.

No, not almost. The moment he got back into his own body again, Crowley's legs gave way beneath him. He was surprised it had taken so long, frankly. He felt he had ill control of them on the best of days and he'd just been through the worst. Had he been alone, he’d have let himself hit the floor, maybe sleep right there. He wasn’t alone, however, and Aziraphale would only worry and fuss if Crowley let gravity have its way with him. The angel’s lip would do that awful wobbly thing. Probably he’d break out those blessed puppy dog eyes. Really, it would be a nightmare.

So Crowley stopped himself from falling. Or tried. All in all, he was as successful as any other time he might have had a good and proper Fall. At least this time he only had to prepare for face to meet floor instead of a pool of boiling sulphur.

He fell into a pair of waiting arms. It was mortifying. Worse by far than hitting concrete head first and made even worse by the fact that, try as he might, he couldn’t get his legs to hold him up anymore. His skin burned an embarrassed streak from cheeks to neck. Aziraphale didn’t say a word, simply inserted himself under one of Crowley’s arms so the demon could at least pretend to stand under his own volition instead of by the grace of an angel.

“My dear boy, perhaps it’s time you went to sleep.”

Aziraphale looked at Crowley with the sort of tenderness that made him want to shout at his plants to regain some of his dignity. “Don’t need to ssssleep,” he said, the force of his statement undercut by the sibilance of it.

“When has that ever stopped you?”

Crowley frowned. Yes, he liked to sleep. Yes, he _ wanted _to sleep. But he couldn’t exactly admit to that any more than he could to wanting to stay awake forever because Aziraphale was in his flat and holding him and they’d kissed. And if he went to sleep then morning would come and they’d have to part ways, perhaps forever. All without having said… something he definitely couldn’t, not even to himself. He’d done that too many times already, as a curse and a prayer. He couldn’t bear it when he might actually get an answer.

Instead of any of that, he said, “I’m fine, angel. Just drop me over on the couch for a bit and I’ll be back up before you can say _ tickety boo _.”

Aziraphale ignored the toothless teasing. He eyed the couch in question and then looked back at Crowley. “No, I don’t think so.” They stared at each other in a silent battle of wills. Aziraphale blinked first. “What would it take you to go to bed?”

Bargaining. Crowley could work with bargaining. It was often the first step to any simple temptation. Having done his own share over the years, Aziraphale had to know that. Crowley considered his options. He could ask for anything. He could-

“Come with me.”

Crowley wasn’t sure what had made him say it. Some demonic instinct to tempt an angel. Exhaustion. Six thousand years of pent up desire. The sort of impulsiveness that led to driving into a wall of fire. Whatever it was, there was no taking it back.

Before Aziraphale could so much as open his mouth, Crowley let out a rush of words that was supposed to be something along the lines of, ‘Not like that’ and instead came out as a confusing, half-choked garble. He swallowed and tried again. “I mean… if you’d like.” Always on Aziraphale’s terms, at his speed. “Stretch out your legs. Lay down. You’ve been through a lot yourself, between being discorporated and possessing a human and breaking in a new body.”

Crowley held his useless breath. _ Someone _ help him, he didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to get back to thinking of a world without Aziraphale and that was far easier to do when he kept the angel in sight. He thought he did a good job of keeping the desperation out of his voice but Aziraphale still gave him a distinct _ look _.

“Very well.” Aziraphale was strong enough to hold Crowley upright as they walked without it looking like that’s what he was doing. Crowley appreciated it, even if they both knew it was a lie. He certainly couldn’t have walked anyway, with the direction their feet were taking them. “I don’t suppose you have anything decent to read? Ah, no matter. I’ll just miracle a book over from-”

Aziraphale stopped so suddenly that Crowley- unprepared to walk on his own- nearly fell flat. He stopped from snapping at the angel when he saw Aziraphale’s stricken expression. “Oh, er, I… I stole a few of your favorites a while back. Stashed ‘em away in my bedside table. Figured it was the last place you’d look.”

There were, in fact, a few first editions now safely tucked into one of Crowley’s ebony nightstands. He didn’t even know where he’d pulled them from, was too tired to care. Probably some poor fool would find their own collection smaller in the morning. Possibly he’d willed them from memory of which Aziraphale held most dear and so they’d be imperfect beyond their earnest desire to please. They certainly weren’t Aziraphale’s and hadn’t been there at all until Crowley said they were. Likely Aziraphale knew that as well as Crowley knew the angel was the only thing keeping him standing. Still, tears gathered in Aziraphale’s eyes.

“You wily old serpent, I should have known,” he replied, playing along with the lie in a voice that said _ thank you, thank you, thank you _.

Crowley stared dead ahead. Aziraphale’s help or not, he was liable to be struck down if he caught sight of Aziraphale’s heartbroken gratitude. “Yeah, you found me out. Guess it would only be fair for you to take them back.”

Aziraphale made a noise that fell halfway between laughter and a sob. They continued the rest of the way in silence to maintain the fragile threads that held them each together. When they reached the bedroom, Aziraphale sat at the edge of the bed, bringing Crowley down with him. For a time, they just sat there. Aziraphale squirmed, clearly unsure of himself, while Crowley tried to gather himself enough to sleep in a sensible matter. He’d have happily passed out as he was but he suspected Aziraphale would tut at him for sleeping in a fully clothed heap. As if the angel actually knew anything on the matter.

He kicked off his boots, sending them in different directions across the room. Aziraphale, meanwhile, toed his off gently and peeled off his socks with similar care. He’d finished removing his coat and folding it neatly over the back of a chair by the time Crowley realized he was staring. Crowley quickly busied himself with removing his own coat. He hesitated a moment, then removed his vest and belt as well. He stopped at his shirt and trousers. That seemed acceptable. Right? Not too much? Or too… little?

He turned to apologize- for what, he wasn’t sure- only to see Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed. The angel was facing the other way and had one of the promised first editions in hand. He was so still that Crowley thought he’d already lost himself reading. Crowley smiled fondly until he saw a tear fall. His heart wrenched. He thought he should say something comforting but what could he say? He edged carefully closer and pushed past years of holding back to put a hand on Aziraphale’s back.

The angel’s shoulders heaved with a silent sob. “I’m being foolish. I’m sorry. They’re all just… just things,” he said in a voice that was high and choked. “I can always build a new shop.”

Crowley snorted and then winced at the sound, realizing it must come off as uncaring. It wasn’t Aziraphale he was scoffing at. It was the idea. “Might as well tell me to buy a new Bentley. Wouldn’t be the same. Wouldn’t be your home.” _ My home too, more than this place ever was _. “You’re allowed to grieve it, angel. Who’s gonna judge you? Heaven? Stuff that lot. Which just leaves you with me and it’s not really a demon’s place to get high and mighty over anything.”

Aziraphale let out a watery laugh. Then, in a blink, the angel was embracing him. Crowley was too stunned to do anything with his arms until Aziraphale started to cry in earnest. He returned the embrace, as tight as he could, as tight as he dared.

In one day, the angel had lost both Heaven and the bookshop. Having Fallen, Crowley could understand what Aziraphale was going through, though he didn’t dare say any such thing. The last thing he wanted was for Aziraphale to consider anything of the sort. So he closed his eyes and thought only of how much he loved Aziraphale. He let himself think the word again in hopes that Aziraphale could feel it. Maybe demons weren’t supposed to be able to love but Crowley knew he loved Aziraphale with more certainty than anything else. Aziraphale was light and warmth and everything else he wasn’t supposed to have. He was every star Crowley had ever molded from the firmament and the demon could only pray that the angel felt even a fraction of that.

After a time like that, Aziraphale’s tears came to a stop at last. They’d soaked through Crowley’s shirt so that he could feel them on his skin. How was it they didn’t destroy him? They were holier and more precious than even the holiest of water. Crowley was filled to the brim by that sorrowful benediction.

Crowley had never lived anywhere that felt like home. He’d felt something close in the heavens. Not Heaven, capital ‘H’- certainly not- but adrift amongst the stars and nebulae he helped create he’d felt something close. Nothing had neared it since he was cast out. He’d settled various places over the years, sure. It was impossible to stay anywhere for a length of time without doing so, especially when you were as fond as he was of sleeping. However, no matter how long he stayed in any one place, it never felt like anything more than a place to kick up his feet after work. 

Aziraphale, though, Aziraphale was something different. 

Too tired and too blissful to give a damn about appearances, Crowley nuzzled into Aziraphale’s neck. He pressed his nose to flesh and breathed deep. This new body that Adam had granted should have only held the crisp, clean scent of an angel, all open air and ozone. The young antichrist had done a thorough job of it, though, and so Aziraphale smelled like those things but also like old books and cocoa and the world’s first rain. Like home.

Crowley didn’t know when he fell asleep after that. He hoped this wasn’t going to become some sort of _ thing _for him. He had more than enough to contend with after resigning in the most dramatic fashion possible, he didn’t need to go passing out at random on top of everything. Sure, he liked sleep but like everything else in his life, he preferred it on his own terms. He could only hope it was an aberration, brought about by the longest day in history. And he should know, having lived through them all. If ever there had been a time for exhaustion to get the better of him, last night had been it. Sleep or not, he was still exhausted to his core.

All the same, he was certain there was a reason he hadn’t wanted to sleep. He dug into his weary, muddled memory, to the averted apocalypse and the bus ride after. Warmth flickered in his chest at the memory of hand on hand and leg against leg. That same heat flared and spread through his body at kisses that still haunted his lips. It melted him, made him boneless and awed, when at last he remembered the brush of angelic to demonic essence as bodies were swapped and tested.

The only thing he really remembered after that was the persistent desire to be awake, to not miss a moment more to sleep. Slowly, slowly his dead tired body gave way to his soul’s desire. His eyelids gradually drew back. His field of vision was drowned in soft, sacred white. For a brief, delirious moment he thought he was back in Heaven. It was more than enough to wake him fully.

It wasn’t Heaven. It was something much better- Aziraphale.

Crowley’s head was pillowed on one of his arms and his face was buried in Aziraphale’s hair. He forced his body to relax. Every bit of him had tensed instinctively against imagined danger and he didn’t want to wake Aziraphale because of it. The angel was still sleeping peacefully. Gentle, steady puffs of breath lightly buffeted Crowley’s chest. For all Crowley knew, it was the first time Aziraphale had ever slept, having never taken to it the way the demon had. Whatever his reason for finally partaking- whether to give Crowley company or because he had a new body to adjust to- Crowley wasn’t about to be the reason he woke up.

Not that his reasoning was so soppy and sentimental. It had nothing at all to do with the way it felt to lie in each other’s arms, legs a hopeless tangle and sheets a mixture of their scents. No he was being selfish and encouraging sloth in the angel. Proper demonic activity, when you really thought about it, and hell wasn’t even paying him for it anymore.

The first blush of dawn was gilded as the slow rise of the sun heralded the start of a new day, a day Crowley had never expected to see. Particularly not like this, with Aziraphale so close instead of unreachable, buried in ash and flame. Crowley’s heart constricted so painfully, he could only ease the feeling by letting the rest of his body follow suit. Despite the risk of waking Aziraphale, he let his winding, sinuous limbs tighten around the angel. There was no mistaking that Aziraphale was there, soft and sturdy and _ there _.

Aziraphale mumbled something unintelligible but unmistakably happy. The fingers of one hand dug into the fabric of Crowley’s shirt and the other wound further around the demon’s back. They were so thoroughly entangled now that Crowley wondered vaguely if some boundary had been erased when they practiced swapping bodies, if some part of each had been left in the other and hungered to get back to where it belonged. He hadn’t thought it possible to find himself more in love with Aziraphale after so long, so he wouldn’t have questioned it if he found out part of his heart now literally beat in the angel’s chest. 

Aziraphale curled inward before indulging in what might well have been history’s most luxuriously languid stretch. Arms and legs found their way back to their owners and space yawned between them. Crowley longed to grab Aziraphale and fold their bodies together once more but did nothing to inhibit the angel; he never had and never would. Instead, he watched with a soft smile as Aziraphale stretched out each of his toes and arched his back to relieve stiff muscles.

Aziraphale had never looked more divine. The golden dawn light caught in his curls, creating a halo that would have made any in Heaven jealous. Crowley couldn’t look away no matter how much he didn’t want to be caught staring.

“Morning, angel,” he murmured as blue eyes slowly appeared from under heavy lids.

Aziraphale smacked his lips sleepily. “Is it already?” he asked, voice a bit rough with sleep. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Join the club. I figured you’d gone and knocked me out again.”

Aziraphale made a small scoffing noise, as though he'd never, as though he hadn't already not so looking ago. "I wouldn't," he said, "though you clearly needed the rest. You all but collapsed after our last switch.”

“Did I?” he said as casually as he could manage given how much he disliked the thought of being seen in such a vulnerable state. “Don’t actually remember much clearly after we proved your little theory.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m still surprised you kept your feet. Then again, I’m often surprised you stay upright, the way you walk.” And Crowley didn’t miss the subtle blush that bloomed when Aziraphale said that. “You never listen to reason.”

“Naturally.”

“Quite. And then we… oh dear, I don’t remember exactly how we ended up like this.” Aziraphale scrunched up his nose in thought. "Is sleep always so… disorienting?"

“Can be.” Crowley stretched, making a long, lean line of himself before curling back in. One of Aziraphale’s hands was in reach and he brushed the pads of the upturned fingers softly. “S’nothing to worry about, really.”

“I’m not worried. Not about that, anyway. But we need our wits about us today.”

Crowley frowned slightly. He wriggled closer so that he could run trails along Aziraphale’s arm with his spindly fingers. Aziraphale was right- of course he was- but Crowley didn’t want all that invading the nice, peaceful bubble they were in at the moment. This right here and everything that led to it was still impossibly fragile. It was new in a way that little in the world was after six thousand years. He was terrified of doing anything to shatter it and it seemed inevitable that he would. He had a history of ruining good things, was arguably _ the _ruiner of good things, at least on Earth.

The memory of Aziraphale on the edge of tears, the reality of the fire at the bookshop finally hitting him, came unbidden to Crowley’s mind. He pushed past that so that he wouldn’t drown in it. He’d do better for Aziraphale. “You know you’re smarter than Heaven and Hell combined. The plan is going to work.” He let his fingers dance back up Aziraphale’s arm, let the casualness of the motion cover the jittering in his heart. “And if it doesn’t, there’s always Alpha Centauri.”

Aziraphale chuckled weakly. “That there is. It’s just… well, it’s-” He swept his hand in a vague gesture at the two of them, carefully not to dislodge Crowley’s fingers from his arm as he did. “This. Us. I’ve spent an awful amount of time not letting myself believe any of this was possible, no matter how terribly I wanted it. To lose this, too, after everything, I’m not certain I could bear it. In fact, I’m rather sure I could not.”

Crowley moved closer and buried his face in a cloud of curls to save himself from the way his skin set on fire at those words. He was tempted to pinch himself. He’d heard that was something humans did to convince themselves they weren’t dreaming.

He nosed through a downy tangle of blond to press his lips to the crown of Aziraphale’s head. Another followed at the angel’s temple, the round apple of his cheek, the upturned tip of his nose, and finally, on his lips. Aziraphale let a soft, relieved sigh pass into Crowley’s mouth. Crowley swallowed it and pulled away before he gave into the temptation to see what other little noises he could draw out.

“Stupid angel,” he said, with affection on his tongue and in his eyes, “told you last night, nothing was gonna keep me from you. I’ll fight God Herself if I have to. Done it for less already.”

“_ Crowley _,” Aziraphale gasped, trying to sound scandalized but landing somewhere deeply fond instead. He extended his hand. “Well then, I’m ready.”

_ I’m not. Not ready. Never will be, if it means getting up and going our separate ways. _

Crowley let bluster cover him and smiled wide. He took Aziraphale’s hand. “They won’t know what hit ‘em.”

**Author's Note:**

> This is largely a complete work but there will probably be a short epilogue to follow.


End file.
